An Idiot Can Dream
by LibertyBellJar
Summary: Somebody's hopelessly obsessed, and he doesn't like it.  Somewhat fluffy, Coldcoffeeshipping


It was childish, and for anybody else, it would have been fairly embarrassing, but he had never been the type to give regard to what other people thought of him. He moved through life like a steamroller—a juggernaut, almost—always running, never halting to take a nice deep breath or appreciate the work he'd done. Even now, in his childhood home, he was pacing around his bedroom, desperately trying to strategize over the roar of involuntary, interceding notions.

No matter how many times he turned away from that corner, however, he always came back to it. Down by the floorboards, where nobody who entered the room could immediately see them, were plastered dozens of newspaper and magazine clippings, as well as internet prints and even a photograph he'd surreptitiously taken himself. A small, fervent, and admittedly creepy shrine to someone he had no real business admiring.

It was Ash's fault. That made things easier to process. That snot-nosed little overconfident, under-competent trainer who introduced them, and probably made efforts to fan the flames. It would be in his interest, of course, to distract his two main rivals with each other, and it would be more efficient that way, too. It made perfect sense! Stupid, non-strategical Ash had been sending him subconscious influence to make him obsessed. It was the one intelligent thing he'd done the whole league, and it worked, too, because he wouldn't have lost prematurely if he hadn't been thinking of the other one, there, intently watching every move. How could you focus on the pokémon when you're more concerned with whether or not another person liked the way your hair looked? Stupid, stupid, stupid Ash—

The DVR dinged, and he dove in front of his television, knowing a special interview was forthcoming. A live interview, with several participants in the recent championship, only one of which actually mattered. He'd better be one of the first they interviewed, too, because he wasn't about to sit through a bunch of mouthbreathing Elite-Four-wannabes ramble about how they were so sure the super special TM they gave their Pachirisu should have given them the competitive edge, and how it didn't matter because they LOVED their adorable pokémon and it would all make him want to vomit.

"I'm here in Veilstone City!" the female reporter chirped. "With a number of competitors from the Sinnoh League, who want to give advice to all you aspiring trainers out there! And-"

Did she say Veilstone City? He was pretty sure she said Veilstone City—

She touched her earpiece, a look of displeasure crossing her face. "—It appears one of the competitors hasn't arrived to the studio yet." She fixed a smile. "But don't change the channel! We'll be speaking with the others momentarily, and the missing competitor is a very accomplished young man who made quite a splash in his final battle at the championship!"

He heard rapid footsteps on the cobblestones beneath the building. The house was in a residential area, and considering everyone was at work now, it seemed out of place. He peered through the window out of curiosity and nearly doubled over.

"It's HIM!" he breathed. He ran down the stairs and tore through the living area to the front of the house. He was forced to collect himself though, and took several deep breaths trying to gather his thoughts. It had to look like an accident, of course, just running into him, just innocently going down the street, and then acting offended that someone would dare interrupt his stroll, and everything would work perfectly.

Maintaining his air of obliviousness to the world, he stepped outside, carefully maneuvering to the sidewalk at the rear of the house. He couldn't make eyecontact until the pivotal moment…

"Hey! Watch where you're going!"

His head jerked up, and he tried his best to look perturbed. The boy opposite him gave him an equally exasperated expression.

"Paul! Could you move it? I'm on my way to an interview!" he fumed.

"You're really in the wrong part of town," he replied stolidly. "The studio is at least a thirty minute's walk from here."

"Oh nooooo!" Barry glanced about anxiously, and began shuffling in place. "Aaagh, I have to go! Now!" He took off sprinting down the street, but stopped in his tracks and spun around.

"Hey! Guess what!" he shouted, "I'm still mad at you for losing to Ash!"

Paul grimaced. "So am I."

"Yeah, okay! See you later!" And he was gone.

Paul heaved a sigh and shuffled back toward his house. He must care, to bother being mad at him. That was something.

"Stupid," he muttered to himself, trudging into the living room. He was an idiot, and an idiot could dream.


End file.
